


Lent (never given back)

by weishenbi



Series: No place in Heaven [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Priests, Blood and Injury, Found Family, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Psychological Horror, kinda???, mentions of a toxic family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:01:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weishenbi/pseuds/weishenbi
Summary: Psalm 73:21-23
Relationships: Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun/Nakamoto Yuta
Series: No place in Heaven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2042770
Comments: 10
Kudos: 35
Collections: Sakura Mochi - a yujae centered ficfest





	Lent (never given back)

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is prompt #53 of the Sakura Mochi YuJae fic fest: "After devoting his life to seminary, Yuta thought he would be able to live as a priest in peace. Then he starts to grow a demon horn. At least Jaehyun, a demon, is there to help him throughout it all."
> 
> Please do mind the tags! 
> 
> Also, since this fic mentions a lot of Catholic specific things, here's a little explanation: once someone goes through the ~6 years of seminary, studying to become a minister of God, before they are full right priests (deacons) they have to go through a period of practice (a pastoral year) where they help another priest in their sacred duties etc- these men are called acolytes, or readers, and they can not read the Gospel or take confessions but can tend to the believers and parishioners and distribute the Holy Bread, etc.

**II Samuel 7:5 - Should you build me a house to dwell in?**

So he hadn't gotten lost after all, although he had almost missed his bus stop, but Mark didn't have to know that. Yuta breathed in the air of the mountain - well, actually the air of the road in between the mountain and his church. Damn, that sounded so good phrased out like that… _his_ church. The one that had been assigned to him. The one he was going to work at. A smile was making its way through his face just by thinking about it.

He readjusted his backpack strap over his shoulder and took a couple of steps forward, taking in as much of the building in front of him as he could without straining his neck. It was… well, it was your regular Korean catholic church, a brick building with a bell tower and a main nave on the side. But it was cute, almost secluded in the inner corner of the mountain, faded salmon against vivacious green.

Sure, it wasn't the gothic cathedral he had dreamed of when he had first enrolled in seminary. No counterforts in sight nor intricate tinted glass pictures on the windows, and no gargoyles making fun of the passing people either. But this wasn't a Victor Hugo novel, this was a quasi-rural town in the south of Korea, the oldest a church could be here would be a hundred years, so why would he lose his time daydreaming of stone columns and chancels with ambulatories?

He was aiming for the main entrance - big, double wooden doors at the shortest side of the nave, opposite from the tower - but before he could place his foot on the first two steps leading to them, he caught sight of a figure moving in his direction. A young man in a white shirt and light blue jeans was walking up to where Yuta stood, and if his smile and the little trot to his walk were anything to go by, he looked excited.

"You must be Yuta!" When he nodded, the man gestured for him to follow and started walking back to where he came from, "It's so nice to finally meet you! My name's Taeil, as I'm sure you've been told already." Wait. So this was the priest he'd be under? _Undercut and cuffed jeans priest_ was ‘old man Taeil’? Mark sure had some explaining to do. "Come, come on in, don't be shy." He was holding open a small door that led them to the sacristy.

He was welcomed by what looked like a narrow and crammed rectangular room. The sound of a flickering switch, the hospital-white light and the buzzing static sound of the fluorescents swallowed the entire room. Taeil was explaining where everything was and how to find anything he would need, pointing to the hangers on the wall, opening the drawers on the big, black desk that stood against the wall. The words were reaching Yuta’s brain but they didn’t quite break through the fog that had set in his mind; he later would be able to tell where to find the cassock he was asked for, but have no actual memory of being told where it was. All he would remember of this first encounter would be watching the curvy shadow casted by the table’s carved leg against the marbled floor and the deafening brightness surrounding him.

Taeil opened the dark brown door leading to the altar and the chancel surrounding it, and Yuta’s eyes had to adjust to the warmer light that engulfed the actual church. He took it all in: the white marble altar table, the pulpit to the left of a modern, stylized design, but specially the big statue of Jesus Christ on the cross that hung on the wall, presiding over the whole building. It was a simple style, a smooth figure that appeared to be made whole from the same block of white stone, no baroque details or realistic colors, but that didn’t mean it was any less daunting.

And on the other side, the two rows of long wooden benches; the little candles at the far end of the nave, flanking the main entrance; the beams of sunlight that came in through the windows on the highest end of the walls, piercing the sacred space like arrows that thrusted into the creamy white floors. He instinctively walked under one of them, happy to receive the sunshine on his skin. He’d always done this whenever a single beam of light was casted from above, since he was a kid. As if searching for God’s guidance, his mother once had said. Like a kitty, Mark had said countless times.

“It’s nice, right? The natural lighting at this hour means we don’t need to turn the lights on yet!” Taeil had situated himself to his right, and was sporting a little smile.

“That’s very convenient, in terms of electricity savings” Yuta observed, and the priest nodded. “This church is so beautiful, I know the appearance of the building should be irrelevant and all that but it truly is” and with his open arms he pointed at the space before them. Taeil laughed and patted him in the shoulder.

“If the beauty of the buildings was irrelevant, as you say, we would all officiate on little plain wooden cabins! Of course beauty is subjective, but it’s okay to praise it when we see it. I’m very happy I get to serve Him in such a beautiful church, and that our congregation can enjoy it every week”.

Yuta was about to respond, but the sound of the main door swinging open got their attention first. "Ah, she's way early today" Taeil said as the only introduction, checking his watch. In came an elderly lady, probably in her 70s or 80s, at a slow and apparently difficult pace that suggested maybe she'd be better off using a cane. Taeil waved at her and started walking back to the sacristy, gesturing Yuta to come with; "I better go change, she's here for confession. Every Thursday morning." 

Yuta hummed, he supposed it'd be more the kind of _asking for advice_ confession than the _forgive me father for I have sinned_ one. What sins could a retired grandma commit on the weekly? Taeil took the robe from the hanger and started putting it on while he explained that usually the townspeople came on saturday or sunday before the mass, as expected, but there were a few that had another confession schedule. There was a hint of something there in his voice, annoyance? Maybe he was just tired, it was indeed early to be working - a quick glance at his phone told him it was just 8:23AM. He’d have to ask him later, though, because as soon as the priest was ready he opened one of the cupboards and frowned, just to turn around at the newcomer and, verbatim, _entrust him with his first Holy Mission_. Which was to go get them more supplies of hosts (“pre-Holy Bread”, as he liked to call it in seminary) because they were running out them. 

Yuta was leaving the church and heading in the direction Taeil had instructed him to go when something on his peripheral vision made him stop in his tracks and look again - something… pink? Oh. He resumed walking, it was just some guy with pastel pink hair and a matching baby pink sweater that was walking towards the main entrance. Unexpected, sure, but it was dumb to have stopped to look just because of that.

The bakery he was supposed to get to, by Taeil’s indications, was a little one-story building with cream colored walls and a sky blue canopy that he must have passed by with the bus when getting there earlier that morning. The way downhill was new to him but since it was right on the main street it was easy to find. A bell tinkled a little greeting when he pushed the door to get inside, and he was met with a welcoming smell of freshly made bread and sweets, and the warm smile of the man behind the counter. 

“Hi there! How can I help you?” He was wearing a clean apron that looked like the uniform of the shop, but there was no name tag in sight.

“Hi, I’m looking for Doyoung?” Yuta approached the counter and let his eyes wander around the room for a little longer, the cakes and sweets on display all looking delicious and inviting.

“Well, then here concludes your search!” The guy - Doyoung - looked a mix of amused and surprised. “What do you need?”

“I’m here to take the hosts for the church, Taeil sent me to ask for them.” He saw the other’s eyes narrow. What? 

“Of course, and you are…?” Oh, right, he hadn’t introduced himself, how rude of him.

“My name is Nakamoto Yuta, I’m the new lector at the church starting today! It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He had put on his best blinding smile and bowed his head really deep, to make up for the bumpy start. “You can call me Yuta”, and the face of the man before him now included an arched eyebrow. That was probably just the usual _oh-I-didn’t-notice-you-were-not-Korean_ moment, but it didn’t explain why the almost suspicious look was still there. Nevertheless, he excused himself to go get the bread and crossed the curtain that led to what Yuta supposed were the ovens and the kitchen.

He was inspecting one of the cheesecakes exposed at the shop window, his stomach very helpfully supplying a growl to remind him that he still hadn’t eaten anything that day, when he felt someone outside watching him. His eyes focused past the exhibitor and on the street and, to his surprise, the pink boy from before was looking in his direction from the opposite sidewalk. Yuta moved to stay away from his gaze and the other didn’t seem to follow his movements, so he assumed the interest was placed on the cakes and not on himself.

The hushed discussion that could be somewhat heard from where he standed became clearer for a few seconds, as if the people partaking in it were getting closer, and sure enough - the next moment a new face was coming through the curtain and greeting him. The face in question looked like it belonged more to a fashion magazine than a small bakery in the middle of nowhere, and was topped by a white hat matching the apron full of flour powder, everything pointing to him being the chef. 

“Hi there sweetheart!” The newcomer placed a bag on top of the counter before speaking again, “I’m Taeyong, Taeil just texted me you’d come by. Excuse this idiot of a coworker, he thought you were trying to pull some prank on him or something like that.” Said coworker had trailed behind him and didn’t seem the least bit fazed by the insult.

“How was I supposed to know the church had a new… church intern coming in!” Before the _church intern_ could complain, Taeyong slid the bag towards him over the countertop and spoke again.

"We're very pleased to meet you, and you're welcome to come by anytime you'd like! We can show you around the town, too, if you want." Yuta could feel his shoulders relax, though he wasn't aware of them having tensed up before. This person was so kind, and he was weak for nice people; he wanted to become his friend already.

"Thank you, that would actually be very nice. I'll come here often, your cakes look delicious!" He took the bag and waved goodbye as he made for the door, getting an enthusiast wave back from Taeyong and a distracted but friendly one from Doyoung, who was focused on something outside the shop. Before the door closed behind him on his way out, under the happy farewell of the bell, he could hear Doyoung ask his colleague ' _why's he standing out there like-_ '.

The door closed and Yuta’s eyes fell instantly on the boy across the street, who this time was… waving at him? He turned to the shop’s window and saw Doyoung returning the greeting, and then the stranger in pink was coming in their direction. 

Yuta resumed his walk back to the church, but the instant they crossed paths something weird happened - or, at least, it seemed to happen for him. Time seemed to slow down, and he felt a pull, something akin to a spark of static electricity you’d get from almost touching a wool sweater; only this discharge shook his soul instead of his skin. His eyes flickered towards the apparent cause of the reaction, confused, but the man wasn’t looking anywhere but forward. An instant later everything had come back to normality and he was walking uphill again, suddenly aware that he was gripping the bag a bit too strongly.

Weird. He was having so many episodes today, he sincerely hoped it was just a consequence of the excitement and all the new information from these new places and people he had to take in. Deep breaths; he was going to be okay.  
  
  


**7\. Accidia**

“So did you choke while reading and mess up the lines again?”

“ _That was one time, Yuta, geez! Will you let it go?_ ” Came Mark’s voice from his phone. Yuta didn’t even try to hide his chuckle at the younger’s frustration.

“Never. But seriously, were you nervous? How did it go?” He spotted Taeil closing the service door and coming his way, so he held up his free hand in a lazy greeting.

“ _Everything was alright, Taemin actually congratulated me on my intonation and my volume!_ ” He sounded so proud, it was endearing.

“Of course you had a good volume, about time that loud as fuck voice of yours came in useful.” Mark gasped.

“ _Don’t swear on holy ground!_ ”

“I’m not on holy ground, I’m actually…” he mentally measured the distance between the bench he was sitting on and the little stairs that led to the main door, “like half a meter from it.” Mark mocked his last words in response but he didn’t pay it any mind. “I think I did well too, although Taeil didn’t come compliment me afterwards, so maybe not as good as you.” The priest was within hearing distance as he said it, and much to Yuta’s glee he let out a huff that intended to be disapproving but was obviously just covering up a laugh.

“I didn’t know you wanted compliments, are you sure that’s the attitude you want to have for leading the mass?” Yuta patted the spot next to him so he sat down, “Who are you talking to?”

“Wait”, he fumbled with his phone for a second to put it on speaker, “why don’t you say hi to Taeil?”

“ _Oh, hi Taeil!! How’s everything going?_ ” 

The elder’s eyes widened in surprise at the familiar voice, and Yuta sat back for a couple minutes as he listened to them catching up, talking about their families, and Mark telling him about the neighbouring town he had been sent to. 

“ _So how’s Yuta doing, is he causing you a lot of trouble?_ ”

**_Hey._ **

Taeil just laughed.

“Quite the opposite, actually, he’s being of great help. And now that I can send someone else to get the hosts for me and I don’t have to make the way uphill in the early mornings, I think my life might just be perfect.” 

Yuta tried not to let the words get to his head too much and instead deflected, “isn’t being lazy something like a very bad thingy?” He dramatically put a finger over his chin to mimic deep thinking, “Something like... a deadly sin… but I can’t quite remember what.” Mark snickered on the other side of the call.

“It’s not sloth if I’m old and cranky and I have to take care of my health, children!” He shook his arms in the air as if terribly offended, and Yuta played along by dodging them in an exaggerated move.

“ _Yeah, sure. Guys, this was super fun and all but I gotta go or else I’ll be late for dinner. Yuta, let me know how long it takes him to make you take confessions._ ” At that he shot a questioning look to Taeil - they weren’t allowed to take confession until they got ordained -, but the priest just laughed and they bid the youngest good-bye.

Taeil stood up and stretched out his back while saying they should also go get dinner now, and led the way towards the house. Yuta liked it there; it was a small but cozy space and really he was content with staying anywhere that had a mattress and four walls, but the company of the deacon warmed up the place. While they were setting up the table Taeil let slip a “You mentioned you knew Mark but I didn’t really expect you two to be so close”, a fond smile making him look younger.

Yuta sits down, arms resting on the varnished surface of the table and tapping in a happy staccato. 

“Yeah, we were roommates at the seminary and we’re basically best friends.” He slides his fingers through the wood, focusing on the feeling of the touch. Soft, but obviously solid and strong; reliable. 

“He told me a bit about you when we found out I would get sent to _his_ hometown, but judging by how he talks about you I thought you’d be around 50 or something”, he teases, satisfied when he sees Taeil stumble a little on his movements and almost spill the soup he was pouring into the bowl. The priest’s gaze is enough of a chastising for the cackle he lets out, apparently not as well concealed as he had thought.

After saying grace, when Yuta’s mind is literally miles away, back at home where this same scene had repeated itself so many times - the comfortable silence of hungry stomachs being filled, after the murmur of thanks to the Lord for letting them enjoy those moments and meals, each of them engrossed in their own little worlds. But this wasn’t the living room of his mom’s house, and so, conversation was plausible. 

“His uncle is a pastor too, you know? Ah, I guess you do…” Taeil was fiddling with the chopsticks around the rice, not quite taking any bite yet. 

Yuta realized - maybe a second too late, but hey, he was busy stuffing his mouth - he was waiting for an input to keep going.

“Yes, he told me that was why he was in contact with the life of servitude since, well, forever?” 

Taeil nods and starts telling him about how Mark’s uncle actually helped him through seminary, and they start exchanging anecdotes back and forth, until they touch a subject that makes the younger remember the conversation on the phone earlier.

"What did Mark mean before when he said you would make me take confession?" He was worrying his nail with his teeth, an old habit not even his mom had been able to get him out of. They were always growing so fast.

"You don't have to do it if you really don't want to," Taeil said, his hands up in surrender. "But even if you're technically not allowed to do certain things yet, the only way to learn how to do them is via practicing. It's not uncommon and you should consider whether you want to use your time as an acolyte to actually get used to your future tasks, or start trying to navigate them afterwards, once you've been Ordained."

Taeil must sense his mind going a mile a second, so he tries to clear the air, distracting him with more anecdotes about his parishioners and his days as a newbie deacon.

Yuta bites his cheek while eating, distracted with the stories, and the metallic taste doesn’t leave his tongue even long after he’s fallen asleep.  
  
  


**Exodus 20:20**

_He's outside on the hill that hugs the church from its side, and it's nighttime, but there is no moon or stars to be seen, no matter how much he strains his neck looking up. He can't quite place the origin of the soft, milky and dense light that's allowing him to see where his steps are leading to - he can only feel grateful that there's at least some outlining of the world around him. He tries to stop walking, to turn around or even just slightly in his tracks, but to no avail: the muffled sound of his shoes disturbing the peace of the sleeping grass and moss is only picking up a steadier pace._ **_Don't try to resist it, you're almost there._ ** _Almost where? It looks like he's aiming for the top of the promontory, but the ground under him has not once stopped being flat, so how can he be going uphill?_

 _The wind howls in Yuta's ears, high and sharp, and he realizes it's been there the whole time, just now it's getting stronger. Harder to ignore, making his head spin and his lungs ache; invading his mind in a forbidden chord of high whirling notes and poisoning his chest with the aggressiveness of a tornado. The trees around him seem to come in a more scattered pattern at this point, the next one further apart from the last, but they've also grown taller and thicker, the cloudy non-moonlight not strong enough to resist staying on their leaves for long._ **_Close_ ** _, and they really are closer to the top, somehow; he can't see the sky above his head with how all the high branches are making a dense net to shield it from view, but he can feel it. Something not unlike the nausea you'd get from standing in a high place even after retreating somewhere your senses might be tricked. But in the end there's only so much you can hide from yourself._

He woke up drenched in sweat.  
  


**Proverbs 16: 31. Gained by virtuous living**

The next time Yuta saw the pink guy was when he was sweeping the front of the church from fallen flowers and dust that the wind had carried that night. It was still early morning, but the light grey clouds in the sky weren't letting the sunlight in. Yuta thought that it looked like this would be one of those short days that keep on stretching out with the smell of rain that never really falls, a non perceptible tension resting on your shoulders due to the anticipation.

The mysterious boy's hair was an intense shade of red now, and he almost didn't recognise him at first - but the stranger had walked up to the bottom of the steps and was sending a disarming smile his way. He was dressed in a dark grey suit, all sharp edges in contrast with the soft looking curls in his hair and the dimples in his round cheeks. Yuta takes one final sweep and turns to him, asking him if there’s anything he can help with. He hopes his tone was less _threatening_ and _intimidating_ , more leaning towards the _calm and approachable, I’m here to help!_ Since Taeil had passed over to him the comments of some usuals on that respect, and he definitely wanted to be approachable by people - that’s what he was there for. Let the people come to me, and all of that.

“I was just wondering” started the boy, “do you work here now by any chance? I haven’t seen you around before.” So he was a parishioner here. Yuta hadn’t seen him around on the Thursday or Friday masses, maybe he was more of a Sunday morning mass guy.

“Yes, I’m the new acolyte here, fresh out of seminary!” He bowed his head lightly and tossed the leaves to the side through a curt wrist movement with the broomstick, “I’m Yuta. And you are?” 

The churchgoer had been blinking away some of the strands of hair from his fringe that threatened to get in his eyes, and opted to swipe them back with his hand after a few failed attempts. “My name is Jaehyun. It’s nice to meet you,” and his shoulders went up a little, in a shy gesture that Yuta wasn’t expecting at this point. “I have a feeling I’ll get to see you a lot now, so I’m looking forward to becoming closer. You seem really....” Jaehyun paused and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, likely trying to find an appropriate word; “...interesting.” The last word he had dragged out, every syllable distinctly pronounced, staring directly into his eyes.

**_Weirdly intense, this guy._ **

Yuta settled for a polite smile and grabbed the broomstick with both hands again, as if his grasp on it would also grant him the grasp on the other’s meaning behind the weird behaviour he had been exhibiting. But he was, before anything, a firm believer in second chances and in assuming the best intentions in everyone unless proven otherwise.

“Yeah, I hope so too! Are you coming to today’s service?”

“I was thinking of going tomorrow morning. I still have to pay the confessor a visit first, though.” He winked, making him complicit in a joke or secret Yuta wasn’t quite getting. But he wouldn’t let that show, of course.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you here Sunday morning then!” He tilted his head in the direction of the entrance, “I think Father Taeil is taking confessions now, in case you have time for it.”

That seemed to make it, the red haired boy humming low and licking his lips once while taking a look at his watch. It was an expensive-looking, black leather and silver crown watch that matched neatly with the shiny patent leather black shoes he was wearing. “I think I’ll head inside, yes. Thanks, Father Yuta.”

“No, no, no, I’m not- ” Jaehyun was already stepping inside and likely dismissing his explanation, but Yuta followed suit, lowering his voice automatically when crossing the doorstep, “Only deacons and priests are to be called Father, you can just call me Yuta, or Nakamoto, or Brother maybe…” he was still carrying the broomstick, he noticed. Shit. He was going to get the dust inside.

He stopped in his tracks, ready to turn around and leave it be. Just as he stepped back he heard Jaehyun calling over an “okay then, Brother Yuta. Bro. See you!” And Yuta shouldn’t have laughed at that, it wasn’t even funny or original, but he found his laugh bouncing back from every corner of the church, a high pitched cackle that faded as soon as it perched on top of the wooden benches, but still traveled for a couple of seconds between the solid walls.

*******

That afternoon, after dinner, Yuta was rinsing his face when a silver glint in the mirror caught his attention. He did a double check, but it seemed to have been a reflection of the light. Shrugging it off, he dabbed the towel against his skin, and - there it was again. With a frown, he returned the towel to its hanger and got closer to the mirror, carefully inspecting his hair. When he ran a hand through it he found several grey hairs pop up from his middle parting, a whole grove of white eucalyptus trees in the middle of the dark brown forest.

This could not be. He was only 25 - okay, he was 26 in Korea, but still. Too young to have _grey hairs_. Not even his mom had this many! He groaned low, frustrated, hands on either side of the sink. 

A couple knocks resonated against the bathroom door, Taeil's voice following suit, "Everything alright?"

Yuta sighed and unlocked the door, stepping outside, "I just discovered like, thirty grey hairs I didn't know I had." His voice was so bitter it might as well have been directly squeezed out of a lime. 

Taeil looked at him and let out an incredulous laugh, resting his elbow on the doorframe for support as one of his gestures threatened to have him lose his balance and headbutt the wall. 

“Okay, wait, let me in first, will you?” he pointed to the sink with his chin, and Yuta made way for him to get inside the bathroom. As he opened the faucet and started washing his hands the priest spoke again, calm.

“It’s no surprise that you’re more stressed lately, though I’m sure some of those must have been there before unnoticed.” Yuta winced, not really convinced, but didn’t interrupt him. “I love all my parishioners, obviously, but they are human, as we are, so it’s only normal that some _tensions_ arise. There’s this middle-aged man that always sits on the fourth row that is _constantly_ chewing gum. During lecture,” he takes the towel, “and sometimes even before communing. The first time I was distributing the Holy Bread to him I was scared I’d find the gum in his tongue.” 

Yuta huffs out a laugh, especially because he thinks he remembers a middle-aged man from Thursday’s mass who fits the description, moving mouth and all. He follows Taeil to the kitchen now that he’s done, while he goes on about the elderly lady that’s probably allergic to incense because she keeps sneezing whenever the thurible so much as enters her visual field, about the families with babies that won’t stop crying whenever he speaks, and about the chorus of people clearing their throats and coughing that made him feel like a rapper with a beatbox base when he read the Liturgy. Yuta was listening to him with a smile as he rinsed and cut the vegetables for dinner, partly amused by the stories and partly moved by the obvious fondness underneath his mentor’s words.

The sizzling sound of the onion in the frying pan filled the room for a couple of seconds, before Yuta inquired, “and I take it confessions are the worst?”

“Listen, kid” Taeil said while he made the peppers slide from the cutting board into the pan, “if you had to listen to some granny confessing her every little petty thought that crosses her mind, or a brat explaining in minute detail all the sins he _wants_ to commit and…” he pauses, mixing the contents of the pan and sending him a grimace that read ‘confessional secret’, “every single week, you’d get more than a couple gray hairs.”

Yuta just passed him the salt and made a mental note to buy some hair dye later.  
  
  


**The Gospel according to John**

Yuta let his eyes wander around scanning the faces in the congregation while Taeil’s voice filled the space before them, reading one of the Psalms.

“Blessed he who does not follow the advice of the ungodly, nor does he stand in the way of sinners…”, the tone grave but not heavy. The words were old, their message older still, and there was nothing new or surprising in the fact that they were hearing those lines, but the attentive faces still followed every sentence, every sound, every gesture that accompanied them. 

“But his delight is in the law of the Lord…” He went on, a finger pointing upwards. Not everyone was paying attention, though - that is to be expected, specially at 7 p.m. on a Thursday.

And Yuta could practically feel someone had their eyes trained on him.

“And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water...” the priest’s voice echoed, but someone was looking at Yuta instead. He had finally spotted where the stare came from - it wasn’t Jaehyun, surprisingly, although his red haired friend was sitting in one of the further rows. Instead, it was coming from the second row, a young man with dark hair and warm eyes that were apparently studying him. Yuta decided to smile at him in acknowledgement, “...his leaf shall not wither…”, and the man smiled back before turning his attention towards the deacon, finally. “And whatever he does shall prosper.” From that point forward, he seemed as imbibed by what Taeil said as the rest of the people listening to him, Yuta’s mind taken out of the encounter by the swish of the priest’s purple robe when stepping down from the podium to explain what was just read.

The rest of the service went along as usual, Yuta growing more self-conscious the closer they got to communion. It was the first time he was going to share it, because for some reason of all the tasks he had to do as an acolyte this was the one he was more nervous about. Every shadow of every corner in the building seemed to be whispering his name, foretelling his failure, his inadequateness, how short he fell to holding the Body of Christ and giving it to other people far more deserving than him. 

_The shadows start to grow and crawl around the room, staying just in the nooks of his peripheral vision, but then one of the candles to his right flickers, seems to get bigger for a split second, and gone are the shadows with their negative messages. He will be fine. Intrusive thoughts can’t bring him down, he’s worked so hard to be here and he still has so much to do and learn._

By the time he was actually distributing the bread his nerves had wound down, the only remnant of them being the occasional tremble of his hands holding the bowl. He had been waiting for Jaehyun to come take a place in the line, but it didn’t happen at any point; he had actually lost sight of him - which was saying something, truly, with that height and hair color. Who _did_ come to line though, nearing the end, was the young man who had been holding his gaze before; he was so tall that Yuta almost seriously considered standing back up at the altar to reach his mouth without making him bend so much. He smiled at Yuta with complicity, like they shared a secret, or as if they were close friends, and Yuta immediately decided he liked this one. 

Minutes after, when the mass was done and everyone started scattering back outside through the door, he wanted to go about with his duties right away but Tall Staring Man walked up to him, hands in the pockets of his black jeans.

“Hello! I’m Johnny, it’s nice to finally meet you.” His smile was blinding, Yuta almost wanted to shield his eyes with his hand as one would with the Sun. 

Instead he bowed his head, “I’m Yuta, nice to meet you too!” and before he could ask anything else, the other went on: “I see why you’ve been quite the talk, you’re so charismatic, it’s entrancing to hear you.” Wait, _who_ exactly had been talking about him? He had only been in town for like a week and a half. He sensed someone else approach them and caught sight of Taeil coming to greet Johnny, oh, that should explain it. 

“I see you’ve already introduced each other? Yuta, this is the nicest and cheapest electrician in town, and one of my favourite regulars” he winked at the last part, and Johnny just made a dismissive hand gesture.

“Yeah, well we didn’t get to the job part but” he pointed at his clothes, white alb and all, “I think you can guess?”

“Hmm, let me think. Are you perhaps... a cook?” The last part was said with so much conviction, so seriously, that he had no choice but to let out a cackle. Taeil just shook his head and mumbled something about a dangerous friendship forming while he went to the back to tend to some other people that required his attention. Yuta couldn’t exactly understand him with the echo of his own laugh resonating in his ears.

“It’s really nice to have someone new in town, specially someone my age,” Johnny told him, his hip leaning back against the front bench; “if you ever need a lightbulb changed, or want to grab a coffee…” he reached into the right pocket of his jacket and fidgeted with his wallet for a second before taking out a small business card and extending it to him, “here’s my number!”

Yuta took it with a smile and a bubbly feeling of warmth in his chest. “Thank you, I definitely will!”

He left shortly after that, not before saying his good-bye’s to Taeil, and something in the back of Yuta’s mind told him he was forgetting about something, but he couldn’t quite figure out what. He thoroughly revised and re-revised again that everything at the altar was neatly picked up and in its adequate place, that no one was left roaming around, and that the lights and candles were all out. Nothing. Well, he thought as he changed into his street clothes, it probably wasn’t anything important.

“We call him for the Christmas lights and such,” the priest was telling him later, when they both had gone out. “He really is very nice, honestly.” Was his mentor looking to set him up with friends? How cute, Yuta wanted to coo at him.

“Aww, you’re finding me friends! That’s so nice of you!” Okay, maybe he cooed at him. At the thirty four year old priest that was in charge of teaching and grading him. But how could he not! The thirty four year old priest in question snorted, and if he didn’t roll his eyes it must have been out of sheer willpower. He opened the gate to the house and Yuta held the door open in a deliberately pompous gesture.

“Of course I am, I have to look out for you. I’m not here just for you to eat all of the food in my pantry, you know.”  
  


**Isaiah 58:7**

He was outside of the bakery, kind of regretting not having brought a warmer coat with him - the cold breeze of the March morning attacking his nape right where the black turtleneck couldn't reach to cover his skin. He tugged on it upwards out of instinct, but to no avail; he could just comfort himself with the fact that it would get hotter in a few hours. 

"Hey!" Taeyong's voice took him out of his self-absorption. He had just turned around the corner and was waving at him as he walked closer, Doyoung making his appearance behind him shortly after.

They had agreed to go on a walk and see the town, talk a little, show him the best places to eat, to get lost into, to not spend too much time in, all that jazz. They got to a little pond with colorful fish inside and white flowers hanging from the trees that surround it; Doyoung got some pictures of the flowers and of Yuta crouching down to carefully inspect the fish, and about fifty pictures of Taeyong trying to measure up with his leg whether he could jump over the narrow section of the water or not - he could, but it nearly gave the younger a heart attack.

They passed the mall next, turned the corner around for Doyoung to show him “the best secondhand bookstore ever to exist” and somehow they spent the next 40 minutes roaming around the shop, picking up books from the piles on the overcrowded tables or shelves, interchanging thoughts about authors, sagas, and the trends that had become more popular when they were younger. The growling of Taeyong’s stomach was what signalled it was time to go and get something to eat, and so they took him to a restaurant not far from the city hall that served traditional homemade food in a cozy little atmosphere and for reasonable prices. By Taeyong’s insistence, Yuta ordered the jajangmyeon, and he had to concede it was the best he ever tried. The discussion that arose between him and Doyoung over donkatsu versus katsudon could have turned the mood sour, but he found Doyoung was enjoying the banter just as much as him, and since Taeyong continued to slurp on his soup unaffected it was probably fine.

After lunch they went for coffee to a nice café that was a few streets away, Taeyong arguing that the little exercise would help them digest the food easier anyway, even though Doyoung didn’t seem so convinced by that argument. The coffee shop had a modern black and grey design and a dark grey canopy shielding some of the tables in the terrasse from the sun, but Yuta didn’t want to sit in the shadow with how lukewarm the weather was. Luckily he didn’t have to voice this thought because as soon as they approached the terrasse they spotted two familiar faces sitting in the sun, on one of the tables to the right.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour and the most amazing bakers in the world!” cam Johnny’s voice, as he gestured for them to join his and Jaehyun’s table. They dragged a couple of chairs from the tables next to them and Yuta asked why he was the man of the hour, to which Johnny just said nonchalantly “We were just talking about you”, making Jaehyun scoff.

“And why is that?” Prodded Doyoung, an elbow softly digging into Jaehyun’s arm, careful not to make him drop the documents he was holding and, apparently, reading. It was Johnny who answered, though:

“He was sulking because he had gone uphill to see you and you weren’t there,” Johnny supplied, resulting in Jaehyun whining about not having sulked once in his life, while he got his briefcase and put the papers inside, seemingly having given up on managing both reading and maintaining his dignity intact at the same time.

“Is everything okay though? Can I do anything for you?” He was here now at least, Yuta thought, so if it was anything urgent he could still help.

“No, it’s okay, I just wanted to say hi, offer my services, you know” he fixed his fringe that was sticking out of the dark blue beret he was wearing, “the usual.”

“I somehow doubt you only wanted to make business, but I won’t call you out on your bullshit.” Doyoung said, earning a pointed look from Taeyong that Yuta couldn’t understand. His confusion must have been showing in his face, because Taeyong explained, “Jaehyunnie is a lawyer.” Oh. Yuta didn’t think he needed a lawyer for anything, but it was good to know.

The waiter arrived just then to bring Jaehyun a short and take the orders of the newcomers, Yuta asking for a long black and Johnny complimenting his taste on coffee, on account of it being the same as his own.

“But you’re so young, aren’t you around my age? It’s impressive that you’re a lawyer already.”

“I’m not _that_ young, I’m 25! I’ve been a lawyer for 4 years now and I’m the best in my firm, thank you very much.” Yuta tilted his head to the side.

“You’re one year younger than me then, like Doyoung.” Jaehyun opened his mouth to say something but Johnny beat him to it.

“ _You were born in ‘95 too?_ ” He practically screamed, excited, and pointed at himself, Yuta, and Taeyong intermittently. “We’re all the same age! Ha! In your faces, 96 liners!”

It was the single lamest thing he had heard Johnny say up until this point, and Yuta couldn’t help but let out a laugh of disbelief and fondness at the way Jaehyun and Doyoung would act _offended_ at the comment and the four of them engaged in a rather childish but good natured discussion for a couple minutes. When Taeyong jabbed at Jaehyun about spending all his money on coffee and hair dye, Yuta heard the red haired cackle and a thought about it being melodic and unique crossed his mind for a second, but he didn’t get to dwell on it too much because Doyoung had darted back at Taeyong for spending all of _his_ money on sweets and sometimes eating one too many of the ones they just baked and were supposed to sell.

Their orders arrived, and the characteristic silence that’s caused by people drinking or eating something and reveling in it filled their little corner of the terrace. It made Yuta look around for a moment, suddenly fully aware of where they were and the volume they had been speaking at. But the few people that were sharing the front of the coffee shop with them were each engrossed in their own conversations, laughter and lively chatter mixing with the chirps of the sparrows that were leaping around in search of leftover crumbs, in a polyphony of placid enjoyment of life that set as the background music for their conversation.

He learned some things that day. Jaehyun had graduated in Law in just one year and a half and, though that made Yuta laugh and ask them to not mess with him, it turned out it was actually true. Yuta told them a bit about his life in Japan and how since catholicism was way more common in Korea he had spent some years studying the language and then ingressing in seminary, Taeyong commented how he was a christian but not catholic, Doyoung told him he was a buddhist.

When they were getting up to pay and get back home Yuta obviously offered to treat everyone, and this time Doyoung and Taeyong _did_ let him pay, unlike they had before during lunch. Johnny apparently had won a bet with Jaehyun and the latter had to pay for all of his coffee the whole year, which to the acolyte seemed like a very bad financial move for Jaehyun, but he wouldn’t be the one to comment on it. They both got inside and walked up to the shiny counter; the waiter was busy with some other customer at the moment and made them a sign that she’d be with them in a minute. Jaehyun leaned against the metallic surface and gave him a look from head to toe before asking, “Did you play a lot of sports growing up? You look pretty athletic.”

Yuta felt the color rise up to his face, not really used to people complimenting his body. "Uhm, yeah, I played soccer when I was younger, and I like running, and such. What about you?” He shot back, hoping the teasing would take the attention away from how flustered he was feeling and he would come off as confident or something of the sorts.

He couldn't have braced himself for the younger standing up straight in all his tall glory, towering over him with a smirk framed by his signature prominent dimples, and asking, low, “Oh, I know a game or two we could play.”

The waiter saved him from having to reply, but Yuta could **_feel_ ** he would have trouble sleeping that night.  
  


**Exodus 20:18**

_He's outside on the hill that hugs the church from its side, and it's nighttime, but there is no moon or stars to be seen, no matter how much he strains his neck looking up. He recognizes this scenario; he’s been here before, going uphill without being able to see anything. Except this time he’s walking faster, and it seems to be downhill instead._

_He can’t make out the path before him, the obstacles he dodges just in time. He can only focus on the hammering of his heart against his ribcage, his pulse on his neck, and the hectic pace at which he’s stomping on the ground. He doesn’t want to be so careless, he is in no rush, he wants to slow down and avoid causing any harm to the living creatures in his way. But he has no control over his movements._ **_Deeper. We’re getting closer now._ ** _The wind gets weaker by the second, and the ground turns less mushy and rougher, his steps now echoing with a stark sound. Temperature has been increasing for a while now, though it’s only in this precise instant that Yuta realises._ **_Lower._ ** _They must be lower, because he can sense walls rising around him as he walks - or rather, runs; the levels of the Earth that he’s leaving behind rising so high up that they curve on the end. He can’t stop running forward, downhill, but he can already feel the smell of moist earth welcoming him as the walls close up on him, and it’s so hot and humid that he can barely even breathe._

He woke up drenched in sweat, again.

  
  
**3\. Luxuria**

It was the second time Yuta was taking confession, and he felt a bit more relaxed about it this afternoon than he had the day before. He had even written down on a little notebook all the advice and tips Taeil had given him the night prior, and he had slipped the notebook inside the left pocket of his alb. 

He carefully opened the door to the confessional booth, the dark walnut tree wood easily letting him step foot inside. Once he sat down and closed the door again, he allowed himself to take a second to calm down. Closing his eyes, he deliberately relaxed his shoulders, aching with tension he wasn't aware of until it was gone. He rested his head against the wooden wall and took deep breaths. The only thing in his mind was the smell of the varnish covering the wooden structure, not aggressive but still distinctly there, impregnating the narrow space. Through the grill carved in a geometrical pattern in the wall before him, he could make out the flicker of the flames in the candle expositor against the opposite wall. Yuta wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t like the artificial candles, their purpose was still that of carrying the prayer of the believer as long as their flame was lit, and being shielded by a glass and the light not depending on fire but on electricity, it was less dangerous. But there was something in them, in the little lights disguised as candles, that made unease sit at the pool of his stomach, and he had never so much as spared them more than a couple of glances if he could help it. Apparently he would have to face them for hours now that he was taking on this sacred duty.

He tried to focus elsewhere, in the subtle caramel veins that roamed through the grain of the walls, tracing insubstantial patterns flowing down. They were not much unlike the furrows left behind by rampant waters when it rains heavily onto dry ravines, or like the droplets of morning dew condensing on the surface of the windows on cold daybreaks, inevitably growing heavier and crashing down into nothing.

Steps approaching the booth made him snap back to the present, straightening his back and schooling his breathing. In came the figure of a man with broad shoulders kneeling down unto the recliner, and it’s both when he caught a glimpse of bright red and when the voice saying _Ave Maria Purissima_ came in a voice color he knew perfectly well, that he froze and forgot he was supposed to respond. Nerves took the best out of him for a second too long, and Jaehyun knocked on the wood separating them, amused: “Hi? Taeil, are you there?”

“Hi, no, it’s - it’s me, Yuta. Can we do the whole salutation thing starting over, or-” he heard the younger scoff, trying to suppress his laughter but not doing a very good job at it.

“Okay. Ave Maria Purissima?”

“Sine labe concepta.” He tried to toss the fact that they were actually using the Latin greeting to the side, if anything to come back at Mark for telling him how being fluent in Latin was just weird and couldn’t possibly come in handy in this day and age. “What can I do for you?” He deliberately omitted the _my son_ part he was supposed to add here, as he had the day before; he was no father to anyone yet.

“Well, you see. I have been committing a number of sins of thought, lately, and some of words and deeds, though not as much as I’d like to, sadly.” Yuta closed his eyes, of course he would be the type to test his patience. It was only fitting. He asked the boy which sins he had committed, then, and as a response he got: “I think I may have been in fault of violating the sixth commandment, although it may be just a deviation from the second, if we’re honest here. What are your thoughts on it? Do you want to chat about it over a coffee?”

He was not going to cave in and snap, he was going to be perfectly professional about this. “I am afraid that committing adultery does not qualify as just loving your neighbours too much, Jaehyun, if that’s what you’re trying to say.” He tried not to think about how that made him feel - an ugly feeling, for some reason. Jaehyun had a partner, hadn’t told him about them, and had cheated on them? He had thought better of him than this - but he had no place to judge, not in here. So he didn’t, or rather tried not to.

“Ah, no, see, I’m not referring to the adultery part, I’m not married or in any relationship so I can’t technically do that even if I tried,” a giggle from one side of the grill, a roll of eyes behind the other side, “but instead to the interpretation of not engaging in impure acts. I have been harboring these very inappropriate thoughts for someone, and I’m sure it must qualify as some type of sin or the other.”

“Well, I didn’t take you for such a pious kind, honestly. Thinking of someone you like in an, uhm, less than appropriate way is not ideal, but doesn’t necessarily constitute something major.” Yuta used his right hand to smooth the creases on the fabric pooling at his knee. “Is there any reason for which you feel you are in need to clean your conscience for it?”

“Maybe if I give you the full picture?” Jaehyun asked, to what Yuta thought _why not_ , and hummed. “There’s this young, attractive boy I have met recently, who is exactly my type, but he is… let’s say he’s unavailable. We get along really well, and I know I shouldn’t be entertaining these feelings for him, but he wears these _tight_ black clothes that make him look so good, and has the most handsome face I’ve ever seen, and this cute little Japanese accent that’s mostly faded, but you can still hear if you pay enough attention to some consonants, and-” Some part of Yuta knew it was time to stop him, but the walls were closing up on him and we has too busy trying to remember how to breathe. The room left for air in the booth seemed infinitesimal, the little holes in the grill too small to offer proper ventilation. He willed himself to calm down and put an end to the string of profanities that was about to come where Jaehyun was going on, undisturbed; “-sometimes he speaks and I just think, wow, your brain is so hot, we should make out immediately. But other times my mind is stronger than my will and it’s making me picture how he’d be like in compromising situations, and those are the moments I can no longer pretend it’s just a sin of thought I’m comm…” Yuta loudly cleared his throat in a desperate attempt to get him to stop talking, and the second it worked he hurried to speak instead.

“I don’t think you need to go into so much detail when you take confession, Jaehyun.” He wished his voice didn’t give away the state he was in, he was trying to make it sound steady but he wasn’t sure how convincing of an act it was. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable talking about this with someone else? Father Taeil, perhaps?”

Jaehyun leaned in closer and stared inside of the booth. Yuta knew he couldn’t see anything inside, but it seemed as if he was just letting him engage in a one-way eye contact. “Oh, if you have figured out who I’m talking about you can just ignore it, won’t you? Secret of confession, and all?” The smirk was obviously patent in his voice, and Yuta needed to make use of all his willpower to tell him that yes, he could pretend he didn’t know, but that if this was all he had to confess he thought he knew enough already to give him his penitence and absolve him. “Ah, yes,” the other chirped, “the punishment, the fun part of it!” 

It was getting _really_ hard not to curse even mentally, really. But the walls seemed to have returned to their rightful places and oxygen apparently was floating around him freely again. So he somehow composed something about how feelings are out of one’s control sometimes and that we should try to be our best person. He honestly kind of pulled it out of his ass and couldn’t remember it afterwards, but told him to do some prayers, and to sincerely repent, and let him go free and forgiven.

Jaehyun left, and Yuta slid down on the seat. He heard the main door close, and with the sound appeared a current of cold air that made him shiver and extinguished the flames of the candles in front of him. Except that that made no sense at all, and before Yuta could process it, they were on again - they probably never went off at all.

He got out of the booth and stretched his back; he could now understand where Taeil had gotten _his_ gray hairs from. For now, he had enough confession practice to last him at least a week, so he was going home to let Taeil know that, and to fall face-first into his bed.

  
  
  
  


**I Corinthians 11:27**

Morning service was over and rain was still rumbling against the roofing of the church, Yuta could hear it echoing from inside. He almost didn’t want to get home, even if the walk back was short, but Taeil had insisted he needed some rest and couldn’t be around the temple all the time. 

“Besides, I need a break from your presence! I was so used to being alone…” he had told him, jokingly. So Yuta was in the sacristy, gathering up the courage to furrow inside his coat - notice how it wasn’t a raincoat - and face the inclement daggers that seemed to be eroding the walls of the building, if one were to judge by the sound produced. Maybe if he ran very fast he wouldn’t… no, he distinctly remembered one of his professors sharing a piece of trivia about how if you run into the rain you offer more surface or whatever and you get even damper than you would walking at normal speed. He sighed and opened the door, grimacing; stepped outside blindly and bumped directly into someone’s back.

“Ouch.” The person belonging to the back in question turned around to face him, and it was Jaehyun, holding an umbrella that was now covering him too. “Hey, just the man I was looking for. Can I walk you home?”

Yuta wasn’t exactly sure of why Jaehyun’d been waiting for him, but he wasn’t dumb, so he took him up on his offer for a mostly protected walk rather than a cold and wet one. When he let the other know about his confusion, the younger just shrugged it off as if knowing when he was supposed to go home after each service and waiting for him in case he didn’t bring an umbrella with himself was something any other churchgoer would have done in his stead.

There was no one else in the street, as it would be expected, and the impacts of the water droplets against the concrete and their shared umbrella deafened even the sound of their steps. The ambience made Yuta think about a question that had been sitting at the tip of his tongue for some time now. So, emboldened by the moment of intimacy and quite frankly by his urge to defy the silence, he started, “Can I ask you something, Jaehyun? But I don’t want you to feel like you have to answer me if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Something funny must have crossed Jaehyun’s mind at that, because he directed a very amused look in his way. “Do tell.”

“Why do you take confession but then never receive communion? Like, you’ve been here for weeks now and you come to mass and confess but never commulgate, and I was wondering why.” Once he had said it, and he couldn’t take his words back, he realised it was _really_ none of his business, and he could have very well offended him with that intrusion of his private experience with faith. But Jaehyun didn’t look hurt or offended, just pensive for a few seconds before answering.

“Eating the Holy Bread means inviting Christ into your body, welcoming him in your soul, right? And you can’t take him in when your soul is impure.” He looked at him in search for a confirmation and Yuta nodded, that was the whole point in penitence - repenting your sins and being ready to take Christ in, to let God in yourself again. “See, that’s the thing. My soul will never be clean, pure enough for that, no matter how many times I confess, so that’s why.” There was a glint in his eyes, and Yuta could have sworn it was a dark one, one hiding unfathomable secrets behind. He shook his head, that was bullshit, _he_ would know about dark secrets and whatnot.

“No one is beyond salvation, Jaehyun. But if that’s how you feel, I respect it.” He grabbed his arm gently, as a gesture of support, and smiled. “Thanks for telling me.”

They didn’t speak the rest of the way to Taeil’s house, but it was a comfortable silence.

  
  
  


**Friends**

Two months had passed since he got to this town and he had gained some friends. He had friends to begin with, which was still a bit of a surprise to him. Taeyong and Johnny had bonded with him pretty quickly, both due to their open natures and the fact that they were all born in the same year. 

The first weeks Taeyong always made sure to distract him with friendly chatter whenever he had to go to their bakery, which in turn ended up with Yuta showing up to the store earlier each time just so they could talk some more. These days he would just spend whole afternoons keeping him company, peeping over his shoulder while he played animal crossing in the dead hours or telling him anecdotes from his life in the seminary. 

Since Doyoung and Taeyong came as a package deal, it was bound to happen that he’d grow close to Yuta as well at some point, though that was a slower process and a more recent development. Yuta worried at first that he was maybe being too pushy with the friendly-banter-and-bickering dynamic, but it dissipated the first time the younger sent him a text asking him “ _not coming to the store today to annoy me? I made a new cake, maybe you could try it out_ ”.

When it came to Johnny, it was nice being friends with him; they seemed to read each other’s mood pretty well, Johnny being either the perfect chatty partner or just a comfortable company to share the silence with. They shared the foreigner experience, too, which helped them find common grounds to bond over, as well as their sense of humor that sometimes solidified in dumb jokes by text at three am. And, somehow, he had become aware of Yuta’s episodes, and developed some ways of helping him get back to reality - gently grabbing his arm or holding his hand to get his attention, taking them somewhere else, talk to him calmly or stay silent but close until it passed. He had referred to them as anxiety attacks, and Yuta dared not correct him; that’s what he had told Mark too, and it made everything easier. 

He probably could even count Sorn in, too, the nice clerk from the supermarket he shopped at that always chatted with him when business was slow - which was virtually always, to be honest. But he wasn't really sure if they were _friends_ since they had never met outside of her workplace, maybe he should ask her to take a walk some time?

The whole making friends process with steps and rules was weird. Having been brought up by a **_paranoid_ ** conservative and **_controlling_ ** concerned for his health family that chose to homeschool him, he had very little opportunities to practice the whole socializing deal when he was younger. The other kids in the village were friendly enough on the rare occasions he went out to play with them, but ever since the first time he had injured himself playing soccer his family **_recluded him again_ ** decided it would be better for him to refrain from joining such potentially dangerous activities, and he was left with less and less opportunities to bond with other people. His neighbour Miya never stopped coming by his house or inviting him over to spend time together and play, though, so he wasn’t _entirely_ isolated. 

It’s just that he had to deal with a whole new dynamic once he joined the classes at the Catholic University, and though he tried his best - he was after all a very sociable and extroverted person, he found - it was still a little disorienting to navigate through all of that without any kind of guidelines. He was close to Jiwon, and to Joshua, but mainly and obviously to his roommate Mark. 

It was still weird to him that his friends _knew_ Mark. Well, not Jaehyun, since he had gotten here after he was gone, but the rest of them at least knew who he was and had talked to him repeatedly - specially Johnny, apparently. He had yet to get used to his two separate worlds not being that separate after all, and texting Mark as usual about his day would sometimes imply he would understand what places and which people he was talking about, the same way he would sometimes mention Mark - okay, more than sometimes, all the time to be precise - and Johnny or Taeyong would have something to comment on that.

Lastly, of course, there was Jaehyun himself. He was an… unusual type of friend, but definitely a friend. He liked to mess with Yuta with the confessions and the occasional fake flirting just to get on his nerves, but he was overall very respectful of him, his beliefs, his decisions and his profession otherwise. Jaehyun had picked up the habit of walking by the church whenever he knew Yuta had free time, and he made for a good conversation partner. And if that was because he laughed at every single one of Yuta’s jokes, and was dorky enough to make Yuta laugh at the dumbest stuff too, that was no one’s business but his. And if it was because he felt something thumping in his chest, almost an ache that was increasingly palpable if he didn’t close his eyes and tried - and failed - to rationalize it, he had no way of understanding what forces he was dealing with.  
  
  


**Groupchat**

**Yuta** : so are we getting together tonight for smash again

 **Johnny** : wasnt it mario party? i want mario party :((

 **Doyoung** : But we had agreed on Smash for this week

 **Jaehyun** : both are fine, we all know i’m going to win either way

 **Taeyong** : I’d actually like to play Mario instead 👉👈

 **Johnny** : so mario party? :D

 **Yuta** : you big baby, i dont care

 **Doyoung** : You’re all coming to MY house and I can’t even pick the game. Unbelievable.

 **Doyoung** : Be here at 7.

  
  
  
  
  


**John 4:13-14. Everyone who drinks this will be thirsty again.**

He had heard a loud thump and a groan of pain outside, so of course he was going to leave the dusting cloth anywhere and rush through the door to check up on whoever was that potentially needed help. As the heavy door creaked under its own weight to let him out, a single thought of how maybe he shouldn’t have left the rag just inside the collection basket made way to his brain for a fleeting second. But the sight he was presented with when his head peeked out and turned right, of Jaehyun looking fresh out of a fight sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the twin blade of the one he himself was holding, emptied his mind of concepts not concerning the here and the now. That sadly included the whole list of words he knew how to pronounce, and how to move, apparently, because he found himself frozen in place.

Jaehyun looked up and schooled his laboured breathing down to a normal rhythm at an alarming speed, “Hey! Fancy seeing you here!”, cracking a smile that led to a cut on his lower lip bleeding out. 

Yuta stepped out and closed the door, crouching down to get to his same eye level. “What on Earth happened to you? Do you need me to call someone?” The other just dismissed him with a flicker of his hand.

“A client got a little rough with me for telling things the way they are. I’m more tired from walking uphill to here than I am hurt by the punch exchange, anyway. Don’t look so gloomy, churchboy.”

With a sigh at the nickname and an exasperated eye roll at the attitude, he scooted closer and sat right by his side. “But you’re bleeding! And beaten up! You should get it checked!” Ever the stubborn one.

“It’s nothing, honestly, don’t worry” he said as he took his hand up to his mouth, licking the wound on his knuckles clean. He was calm about it, about the cut on his lip, the already purple tint of his skin under the eye, as if it was an everyday occurrence. Then again - maybe it’s not that weird to him. A lot of people have engaged in fights at one point or another in his life, he thought, and Jaehyun’s job entails dealing with dangerous and agitated people on the regular. Not everyone had spent their childhood alone in the middle of the mountains and then led a life of contemplation and prayers; the concept of people knowing how to deal with a couple of punches shouldn’t make his head spin the way it was doing right now.

“Why did you come here, though?” The question seemed to take Jaehyun by surprise, because he blinked quickly a couple of times before shrugging.

“I’m not sure, I think the adrenaline just made me want to tire myself so I started marching uphill to burn down the leftover energy.”

Jaehyun’s lip wound was still bleeding even though he’d been incessantly darting out his tongue to clean it for the past minute. His concern must have come off as a stare, because he saw the mouth turn into a smile and then letting out the words, “what, wanna try some?”

Yuta absolutely did _not_ startle and almost lose his balance when he sat back upright. He blinked, confused - “Do I want to try what?” - and made a mental note to be prepared to brace himself if more punches were somehow involved in this. But the boy just licked his lips again and offered, “the blood. Isn’t that what you do in mass, eat the flesh and drink the blood?”

Jaehyun chuckled while the acolyte whined about the comment, and let his head fall back against the door, closing his eyes and relaxing his shoulders. Yuta was glad he at least seemed fine, and tried to calm himself down too - why was he so worked up anyway? He’s way too empathetic, his heart hadn’t slowed from the frenetic beat it had been holding and that couldn’t be good for his health.

So he focused on the nature surrounding him instead, to ground himself. The chirping of the birds, the shadows cast by the trees unto the earth, the way the Sun feelt against his face; these are things that always have a calming effect on him. They remind him of how small he is, how big and inescrutable God’s creation, and it's in this reminder of the sublime that he finds himself at peace and closer to Him.

_As if on cue comes the tolling of the bells, up high in the tower, resonating through his body and echoing inside his chest. Yuta looks at Jaehyun just to check if he’s okay with the loud sound, but he appears to be unbothered by it, eyes still closed and breathing even. The direct sunlight makes him look just out of a painting, a surreal glow to his features. He had his hair up in a ponytail that had long defeated his purpose, presumably during the fight, because the red strands were now cascading down around the boy’s face, sweat making some of them stick to his forehead like careless brush strokes to complete the drawing. The pace of the bells starts to pick up, **DONG** , and he notices a bead of blood is sitting over the lip cut still, shining a split second to catch his attention. It’s a detail on the painting that may have been supposed to look like an afterthought, but actually seems to hold the whole purpose of the piece itself. _

_**DONG, DONG, DONG** , and he can’t take his eyes off the drop of blood. The red shade has not only caught his eye but made him its prisoner, and he doesn’t know when the rest of the scenery has started to fade out: only the red blood against the pink lips is in focus. Only the very inviting glint of the liquid, and suddenly he notices his mouth is dry and he’s really thirsty. The tolling of the bells is getting impossibly louder and faster, and his heart is, by a thin margin, winning a one-sided race against them. He leans closer, lured in by the red, by the only liquid in sight that can soothe and extinguish the fire he’s starting to feel down his throat. _

_**DONG** , and he feels the world folding into itself. Images of himself licking away the blood from Jaehyun’s lips fill his brain, each beat of his heart bringing with him another closer and more detailed shot of the transgression, a cruder look. **DONG** , he’s holding Jaehyun’s neck and angling his head close to make it easier to drink from him. **DONG** , Yuta's brought his lips closer to Jaehyun's and he’s sucking on them to drink from the blood now, the images showing him unsatisfied, biting on the soft tissue to open way for more breaches of the sweet ambrosia, holding the body firmly against him. **DONG** , he’s clinging to the body and gripping the flesh so hard that his nails are drawing blood where they hold him. **DONG** , and he’s given up restraint and ripping the flesh out, but the only thing leaking down is transparent water. _

_**DONG** , his nails have grown out to be black obsidian claws, and he can’t see his face but he knows there are sharp and lethal fangs where his teeth used to be. He’s ripping Jaehyun’s body apart, drawing lines on his skin with the pointy end of his fingers, and devouring it without so much as a second thought. The skin feels silky in his tongue and the feeling he gets out of chewing the flesh is the best he has ever experienced in his life. The penetrating smell of iron surrounds him, engulfs him whole, numbs his vision; the taste getting bitter and sour, resembling that of vinegar, but he can’t stop. There’s a buzzing in his ears that’s getting increasingly high-pitched, a static cry that culminates in a tinnitus, impossibly higher, and then fades to silence again. _

_**dong** _

_He’s a monster._

_**dong** _

_He’s become a monster, and he’s hurting other people, innocent people._

_**dong** _

_He’s beyond salvation and beyond forgiveness._

_**dong** **.** _

_Yuta tries to open his eyes, looks for the familiar shock of reality that always awaits him after the nightmares, he so desperately wants to wake up. It doesn’t happen, though. But Jaehyun is looking wearing a frown over his eyes, a crease against his eyebrows and a hand on Yuta’s shoulder. He moves his mouth, but no sound comes out of it._

_Or maybe Yuta’s just not hearing them. He couldn’t hear anything, in fact. Not the bells, neither the birds or the whistle of the wind that he could see shake the leaves on the trees, nor whatever Jaehyun was asking him again._ He shook his head and tried to will his senses into working again: he spoke.

“Sorry, what?”

Jaehyun’s expression softened, and he let go of Yuta’s shoulder. “I asked if you were okay. You zoned out for a good minute there, I was starting to worry, dude.”

Yuta got up and dusted off his clothes, offering the other a hand to help him get to his feet as well. “Yeah, I think the bells made my mind wander a little, haha.” He tried not to wince at how strained his laugh sounded even to his own ears. “Feeling better?” Jaehyun was giving him a weird look; well. Mission failed.

“What bells?” 

Yuta looked up at the tower to point at the clock, but he realised it was a little past three twenty in the evening, and no bell had chimed since three. Before he even got out of the church.  
  
  


**Mark 13 (Signs that things are about to come to an end)**

It was no mystery that he wasn’t doing very well these last weeks. He’d been avoiding some of his friends, having a lot of trouble sleeping, and just generally feeling like shit. Mark had picked up on it instantly, but he had been able to mask it as just stress, or so he thought at least. He’d been spending more time at Doyoung’s and Taeyong’s houses than at the bakery or the coffee shop, the few times that he’d left home at all, and mostly ignored messages on the groupchat, even though he did get back and read the log every now and then. 

His appetite was nowhere to be found, the bags under his eyes had turned the same purple color of Taeil’s ceremonial robe, his grey hairs were growing exponentially, and he had been suffering from a localized migraine for a couple of days. He didn’t know if it was due to the lack of sleep or to…. other reasons, but the episodes and the nightmares had grown increasingly more vivid and frequent. He had even briefly considered calling home for advice or comfort - which was when he realised how bad he had it going.

So here he was now, kneeling on a bench in the third row of his church - his sanctuary, his place of healing. Clasping his hands together, burying his head in them, he prays. He doesn’t ask for answers, since that’s not how it works. He asks for guidance for his actions, he asks for clarity to be able to tell right from wrong, he asks for forgiveness for the things he’s been thinking and feeling. He prays, and he begs, and he loses himself in reflection and in prayer. There’s a note of incense in the air, and no sound but his own breathing to disturb him. 

He doesn’t know how much time he’s been lost in thought, but he’s exhausted, his knees have gone numb and his hands hurt from how hard he’s been keeping them interlaced. So he slowly pulls them apart, and he _dares take a look at the front, still not lifting his head or his back. He catches sight of the altar, naked of any instruments or decorations as it’s the late hours of the afternoon on a Sunday, and of the lower part of the statue of Christ in the cross. Feeling tears prickle at the corner of his eyes, he finally looks up in awe at the image of his Lord - when he does, it’s not the smooth marble lines what welcome him, but instead Jaehyun is there hanging on the wooden structure, beautiful and composed, his head slightly tilted to the side._ _**Pray to this one.** He knows this is not the object of his adoration, **yes he is, love him and adore him instead,** and that he should look away and repent, burn in shame, **burn in desire,** but he can’t stop staring - and guilt is eating him alive. The shadows cast by the two big candles on either side of the pulpit are growing so long that they practically reach his seat, and he wants to run, but he’s glued to the spot, an iron nail on each of his hands carved deep into the wood of the bench, and he looks at Jaehyun again and he’s crying blood as red as his hair, and- _

Someone placed a hand on his right shoulder. A familiar weight, a touch that was pulling him back to reality. He turned his head to the right and there Johnny was, one knee down to reach his same eye level, worry and care written in the crease of his frown and mirrored in the black of his pupils. Yuta’s eyes flickered back to the altar; everything was as it should be, the statue no longer flesh and skin and the big candles not lit, nor were the shadows trying to get him.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this” he mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else. Johnny squeezed his shoulder.

“You don’t have to deal with whatever you’re going trough alone, Yuta. We’re here for you. We _want_ to be here for you.” Yuta shook his head, this wasn’t something he could just tell his friends about. Johnny sighed, then he got up and offered him a hand. “Want to take a walk with me and talk? It has been a while since we last got a moment for ourselves.” And Yuta felt so bad, because it was true. Avoiding Jaehyun involved avoiding Johnny as much as possible, too, but he didn’t deserve it - none of them deserved this. They were good friends to him. So he accepted the hand that was before him and he got up, following Johnny outside and breathing in the fresh air of the nature at sunset.

“Wait,” he realised suddenly, “why were you at church? Did you change your plans because of me? I’m so sorry-”

“Yuta, it’s okay.” Johnny smiled at him, reassuringly. “I can just come back in at any other given moment, the building isn’t going to vanish or anything. I prefer to be here with you now.” They were walking down the path to the town centre, in a steady pace that allowed Yuta’s body to get active and get the blood pump oxygen back into his brain, but without making him feel the urge of a faster tempo. “So, wanna tell me what’s on your mind?”

“I honestly don’t know if there’s a way I can talk about it without freaking you out.” He put his hands inside the pockets of his hoodie, and started fidgeting with his fingers there. Johnny asked him to try, and so he took a deep breath; “My mind, my body, and my soul have been waging a war inside me, and I don’t know who’s winning, but I know it doesn’t matter who emerges victorious because I will be losing either way. I’m really lost.”

Johnny slowed down to look at him, long and silent, before he whistled low and said “feeling a bit poetic and overdramatic?” It was said in a light way, and it did make Yuta laugh and release some pent up tension in his back.

“Dude, you have no idea of how much I’m underselling how dramatic I could be with this.” They resumed walking again, and they passed by the bakery. “I have been isolating myself to deal with it because it had been affecting my relationships, and, well. I don’t think it was the best decision, in hindsight.” Johnny hummed, seemingly pondering whatever he wanted to say. They were heading into the city centre by now, their bodies and subconscious just so used to making this way on autopilot.

“Can I say something?” Yuta nodded, he could take whatever it was. His migraine was starting to act up again, but he would handle it. “It’s pretty obvious that you had a fight with Jaehyun; I don’t know if it was a cause or a consequence of all this, but we’ve all noticed, and we were all worried. I think you should talk to him whenever you’re okay with it, because he doesn’t seem to know… where you two stand.” He had been so cautious with his tone, almost as if he feared Yuta would break. He did feel like he was going to break because of the pain in his right temple, but he could bear a little reality check.

“I know, I think you’re right. I need to talk to him.” He looked up at the lightposts and the lampposts, their silhouette cropping against the still blue sky, and as the lampposts turned on around them, as he caught a glimpse of a crescent moon still visible in the light blue, he thought of middle grounds and dichotomies, contradictions and harmony. “I want to.” 

The pain was getting stronger, so he held onto Johnny’s arm for support. He was confused, but got distracted and said “Hey, look, speak of the Devil”.

_It all happens in a matter of seconds._

_Jaehyun is walking on the sidewalk, presumably going home from work, and Johnny waves at him. Jaehyun looks at them, locks eyes with Yuta, Yuta smiles and wants to talk, but feels a pain so sharp, so absolute, that his limbs give up and he’s collapsing into the asphalt. Jaehyun is next to him in a moment, and that’s the last thing he sees before the excruciating pain takes over and everything fades to black._   
  


**Revelations**

_Time doesn’t seem to exist, pass, or leave any kind of print on him. He’s on a whirlwind of moments that keep on repeating with slight variants, little details here and there that make it even harder to discern between nightmare and real. Between memory and imagination. The only common factor through all of this is pain. The physical pain in his head, in his hands, but also the psychological pain of failure, of disappointing the people he cares about._

_He’s laying down on a sarcophagus, and there’s a crown of thorns in his head, digging into his flesh and crushing the bone under it, stabbing his brain and infecting it with poison. He’s on a meadow with his friends, and they’re all having fun and singing together, Yuta is supposed to hold hands with them; but his nails have grown out to be black claws, and he hurts them all, and they run from him. He’s drowning in air as dense as water, his lungs are burning, and he’s clinging onto Jaehyun for help, and though Jaehyun is pressing their mouths together and giving him the oxygen he needs to survive, his body is so desperate to get more that he starts demanding it in an aggressive and hungry kiss, and they both end up out of breath, drowning in the same thick and poisonous substance. He’s running downhill and entering the gates of hell, a black demon horn protruding out of his right temple and a shadow dressing him in a cape as though he had always belonged there._

_He’s in pain in the midst of the dark, his body feels like a prison of flesh, he wants to get out of the hurt it’s inflicting in him, the iron maiden that’s torturing him. He can’t stop his skin from burning, his head from hurting, and he desperately scratches it away, drawing grooves of flesh and blood every time he does so. The shadows come and surround him to help him rip the tissue from the bone, taking and taking, but the pain doesn’t recede, he just gets numb at it. One of the hands has the soft feeling of skin instead of the cold touch of darkness, and when he looks it’s Jaehyun’s hand trying to piece him together, picking up the discarded pieces and placing them back onto his body. Yuta holds onto his arm, not sure if wanting him to stop or to keep going, and Jaehyun’s effigy becomes clearer between the shadows as he comes closer. He wants to say something - anything, but his breath dies in his tongue when he sees how by every bit of him Jaehyun recomposes, a bright red horn emerges from the younger’s forehead as well._

_He’s looking on a mirror and applying makeup on himself, thick red lines outlining his cheekbones, eyebrows, nose and chin over his white face, and now black lines over his eyebrows and eyes. His horn is there too, and his claws. He goes through a gate and gets on stage, but when he looks at the audience they’re all wearing masks in exactly the same pattern that he’s drawn onto his skin - the same wooden horn on each of their masks._

_He’s on the meadow again, but now he’s with people and shadows he doesn’t know, dancing and parading to the beat of a music he can’t hear, around a big black goat that directs the performance. He’s standing in front of himself, but the human version of himself with the crown of thorns, that lies still alive but very close to passing away; he kneels in front of the sarcophagus and takes himself in his arms, careful not to cut him with his claws, to hold himself close and cradle his now corpse with a lullaby that’s made of cries._

  
  
  


**Go in peace**

_He wakes up, and he thinks he's actually awake now - the pain in his head is no longer there, at least. His mouth feels as though he had stuffed it with clay, and his eyes literally hurt when he opens them, as if somehow he'd exercised them too long and the muscles were sore now. He blinks, and it's painful again, but he can focus his sight - he's in a room, but not his own. It's not the one with the creamy walls of his shared dorm with Mark, nor the shoji from back at his mother’s house, or the light blue stucco in Taeil’s house._

Just where was he? 

He was laying down in a big bed covered by a grey comforter, under velvety blankets, in a diaphanous white room that had a faint jasmine smell. To his right sunlight was coming through the window, imprinting a square into the bundle that his legs created under the covers. There were no paintings on the walls, no posters, no crucifixes - there was little decoration at all; a couple of potted plants on the one to his left over a white shelf , and that was about it. There was a bedside table in the opposite side of where he was laying with a couple of candles and what looked like an incense burner. In the wall directly in front of him there was an opaque crystal door, and in the one with the plants there was a wooden one, also white, that probably led outside - wherever that may be.

He tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it, plopping back down onto the mattress without having been able to lift himself even a couple centimeters. His arms were burning, and his fingertips were prickling - he suddenly remembered black obsidian claws, and closed his eyes on reflex. Deep breaths, in and out, while he slowly raised his arms to take them out of the bed, his knuckles registering every touch of the soft fabric, every crease, and then he opened his eyes to finally inspect them. No black claws in sight, but his nails had grown a couple centimeters more - indicating he’d been unconscious for at least three days, probably - and were apparently painted black? There were also what looked like healed scratch scars along his skin, but Yuta didn’t pay them any mind, they had also been there when he woke up ten years ago. They were at least indicators that he was no longer in the realm of nightmares, so it felt like a weight was lifted off his chest, leaving more room for breathing.

The pain was becoming more bearable now; he just had to ignore it and push it to the back of his mind while he moved anyway. It wasn’t really different from what he had done other times, when he was sore from exercise or fighting back the… _episodes_ . He successfully sat up this time, gave himself a moment to catch his breath, and slowly pulled the covers away to get himself on his feet, standing up. Everything hurt still, but it seemed to be less. Maybe he was just stiff from laying in bed for too long. He was wearing a long, black cotton t-shirt and tracksuit pants, both pieces of clothing a bit oversized and _definitely_ not his, or Taeil’s either - maybe he was at Johnny’s house?

With shaky steps that grew less vacillating and steadier one by one, he headed for the white door, and raised his hand to put it on the handle. But he took it down again and instead turned to the crystal door, guessing it must have been a bathroom. He could really use a little face rinsing before facing the world outside, thank you very much. His breath must have been terrible too, he couldn’t talk to anyone in that state. He slid the door open and stepped inside, the room pitch black and the switch apparently nowhere within reach.

It suddenly occurred to him that he didn’t know what had happened the last days - he had thousands of different hallucinations, ones seemingly more realistic than the others, but he didn’t know what had happened in the real world. Making his hand travel through the tiles in the walls near the door, trying to feel for the switch, his mind supplied that he had no way of knowing if some of them had been real, but he discarded it; they never were. Never had been. He finally touched a plastic rectangle that seemed to do the trick, and when he flicked it, a LED light in the ceiling lit up and he caught a glimpse of someone else to his left, making him retreat instinctively and stab his ankle against the tile wall on the opposite end. It was, it appeared, a mirror; but the person staring back at him was in no way an image Yuta would recognize as himself at first. His hair was completely white, something was sticking out from it- no, it couldn’t be. 

Trying to cling to whatever was around for support, he ended up ultimately collapsing down against the wall onto the floor, a shaking hand to his forehead. It was there, a hard protuberance curling up and back into his hair. He grabbed the pointy end of the horn with his right hand and pulled, in a desperate attempt to get rid of it, but to no avail. Grabbing his wrist and pulling would have had the same effect, and generate the same kind of throbbing pain, and somewhere deep down he already knew that. He tried again, and again, and again, tears rolling down his face both from the frustration and the hurt. He wasn’t even aware he was letting out screams until he heard someone burst open the door in the contiguous room and storm inside, yelling his name in concern, then entering the bathroom. Hand still not leaving the stem of his torment, Yuta casted his eyes upwards to find Jaehyun on the doorframe, looking down at him with worry written all over his features. He tried to speak, to form words, anything; but only a sob escaped his lips.

Jaehyun would probably scream and run away, horrified, his brain supplied. He would be scared of him and leave him to rot alone like the monster he was, like he deserved.

But the boy in front of him did nothing of the sort. Instead, he kneeled down before Yuta and extended his hand towards him, gently, like one would do with a house pet they still aren’t familiar with. Yuta blinked away some of the tears that were clouding his vision, but didn’t move, didn’t stop holding onto his horn so hard he was starting to draw blood where the end was digging into his finger. Jaehyun took his free hand first, the one he was using to balance himself against the floor, and held it in between his own, warm, kind. He wasn’t quite processing what was happening, but then the other was enveloping his right hand with his own left, and gently but firmly undoing Yuta's ironclad grasp on the horn to replace the latter with his fingers. Both his hands in front of him and coddled by Jaehyun’s, on the boy’s lap, he felt his mind whirl again for a split second until the baritone voice reached his ears.

“Hey. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” He spoke in a soft voice while looking directly at him, and was drawing small circles into his skin with both thumbs, slowly. “You’re awake now and you’re safe. I’m here with you, I’m not leaving you. You don’t have to deal with this alone.”

Yuta rested his head back against the cold tiles, closing his eyes and swallowing. Tears started coming up again, and he tried his best to fight them back but they were stronger than him - everything seemed to be, now.

There was a delicate brush of fingers against his cheek, and when he opened his eyes he found Jaehyun holding his face, so he leaned into the touch, even if he felt like he didn’t deserve it. He leaned in and allowed himself to want to believe his words, to want to think he was telling the truth. That he wouldn’t run away from him.

A few minutes passed of Jaehyun just holding him and repeating variations of the same sentences, reassuring words in a soft volume and laced with care, until Yuta was able to form a response. “I don’t know…” he swallowed, and tried again, “Everything I saw, I don’t know how to tell what’s true from false now.” Jaehyun squeezed his hand at that. “I’m so lost.” 

“One step at a time. I don’t know what you saw or what you remember, but you have done nothing wrong, and you have hurt no one, okay?” The taller traced the silver marks on his arms - claw marks, a shiver traveled down Yuta’s spine. “Well, you have hurt yourself a bit, but we’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. I promise.”

The sincerity was palpable in his words, and Yuta had no willpower left to convince himself not to believe him. He just wanted to be okay. He wanted Jaehyun to help him feel okay.

“Can you stand up?” Yuta considered it for a second, and nodded. “Come here” he helped him get support to stand back up again, and held onto his wrist to prevent him from falling. It felt nice, it felt right. But then he was confronted with the image on the mirror again, and he wanted to run away. The hand on his wrist held him in place, careful but firm, though Yuta did hide his face against the other’s shoulder. “Look at you, Yuta, there’s nothing to be afraid of.” Jaehyun was whispering against his hair, next to his ear. “Please, for me? Look at the mirror.”

He slowly turned back to the mirror and took a look, Jaehyun standing next to him with four crimson and wrinkled horns, just like in his vision. Yuta’s eyes shot open impossibly big, and every word died in his tongue. Jaehyun was looking at him through the glass, then his horns started slowly retracting back into his skull until they disappeared. 

“Can- can I. Do that too.” Breath had been knocked out of his chest. He felt himself shake again, but Jaehyun helped him again, and rested his free hand on Yuta’s shoulder.

“You can, you will learn how. But this is you, too, and you can’t just try to hide it and be ashamed of it.”

“Yeah, well, you should try to tell my family that. And the rest of the world.” He snorted, but there was no bite or resentment left in his voice, he mainly felt really tired. Exhausted.

“If that’s what it takes, I will. Believe me.” He leaned down and replaced his hand on Yuta’s shoulder with his lips, depositing a short kiss there. Yuta raised his hand to reach Jaehyun’s cheek, almost with reverence, and caressed it, held him close to himself. 

“I’m so scared though. That I’ve actually become a monster, even though I had been fighting all my life against it. That I will…” a disbelieving laugh escapes his lips as he recalls his mother’s words, “succumb to evil. And hurt people. That I am now scary, and won’t be able to help people.”

Jaehyun changed his position to properly hug him from the back, embracing him in what felt like warmth and welcoming understanding.

“You’re not a monster, you’re a demon, and that’s amazing. You’re not scary or ugly, you’re absolutely beautiful, like this or otherwise.” He took his hand to his lips and kissed it too, “And you’re not evil. You never have been, and never will, because that’s not how you want to be, and no demonic or angelic blood could ever change that.” Yuta could feel tears threatening to spill down again, but this time he could hold them back for a bit longer. 

“Now come, let’s get you something warm to eat, or else you’ll be just a very pretty and kind skeleton.”

He was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> First, to everyone that has read until the end, thank you so very much!! 
> 
> Second, I owe an enormous shoutout to my beta Andrea, thank you so so so much, I could have never done this without your help, I love you, thanks for putting up with me, for your ideas and feedback, and for going over this with me all the way <3 
> 
> Although this was for the fest prompt my intention is to keep on working on this universe and story so that's why the fic is listed as a part of a series. If you have anything to say, please, I'd be more than glad to hear it! And lastly, to the lovely mods of the fest, thank you for making this take place and for the amazing work you've done and are doing.


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